


Heading West

by ghostburr



Category: 18th Century CE RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 15:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14358462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostburr/pseuds/ghostburr
Summary: this ends mid-thought and has been sitting in a friend's hard drive for the better part of 5 years so i don't know if it will ever be finished but i thought i'd post i here for Shits: the road to el dorado hamburrger au no one ever asked for.





	Heading West

“I hope you know where we are going.”

 

“You have been saying that for the past twenty miles,” Burr nudged his horse in the ribs, urging it to move slightly faster, “I know these lands better than you, so keep quiet and fall in line.”

 

“You can't talk to your superiors that way, Colonel,” Hamilton responded curtly. He fingered a small folded map he kept scrunched in his pocket, secretly confident Burr was looking at the wrong one. “I just hope you are looking at the map  _ I  _ gave you, that's all.”

 

“That old thing? No, I discarded that. Last night.”

 

Hamilton pulled at the reigns; his horse snorted, annoyed at the sudden halt. The brutal Louisiana sun beat down on his thick hair, and made his blood boil.

 

“What did you just say? You did what with my map?”

 

“I discarded it. Had us headed towards the Gulf.” Aaron kept his own steed trudging along slowly, and called back, “as a matter of fact, I think you  _ switched  _ the maps. Who knows where we are now.”

 

The general galloped up closer to the colonel.

 

“If you had kept looking at the map I gave you--”

 

“--Why would we need a map to South America? We are headed to Mexico.”

 

“For the last time,” Hamilton said, “we are  _ not  _ going to Mexico. We are going to South America and that is final.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the other map, and threw it at Burr, who struggled to catch it. Hamilton continued, this time, smiling, “ _ There's _ your route to Mexico. I've been hoarding it for the past day. We are already well on our way to the coast, where I have arranged for a barge that will take us all the way to Venezuela. Some navigator you are.”

 

The colonel reigned in his horse and turned to face his companion. He pulled the handkerchief off from around his neck and dabbed the sweat off his dark brows, and exhaled.

 

“General Hamilton, I will ask you one more time to please stop interfering with this project.”

 

“You are in no position to give orders here, soldier.”

 

“These are  _ my  _ funds, this is  _ my _ money and  _ my  _ ammunition we are using, and we will do things my way or I will turn around and leave you here to fend for yourself.” Burr’s horse, as if mimicking him, huffed and stomped its hoof impatiently on the ground. He absentmindedly tied his scarf around his neck once more and glared at Hamilton.

__________

 

It wasn't their choice, necessarily, to travel together. The two old rivals could not decide whether they admired or despised each other and so spend the better part of thirty years doing everything within their power to sabotage the career of the other one. General Hamilton, convinced Colonel Burr would never bite back, pushed the boundaries of proper decorum until he found himself on the field of honor. His bullet split a branch just north of Aaron's head, and Aaron's bullet grazed Alexander’s hip bone, leaving a scar nearly four inches long that stung and plagued him even ten months later.

 

“There are probably shards of bullet that will be lodged in me forever,” the general complained one November afternoon, lying in bed as his wife brought him tea. He dismissed her, irritated, clutching his hip and muttering curses at the dark eyed man who waited silently in the corner of the bedroom. “I can hardly walk, you know. After about two miles it starts to burn. Shards of metal, I'm telling you, are stuck inside of me.”

 

“That is almost romantic, General Hamilton. You shall think of me every time.”

 

Alexander grunted and sorted through the papers on his bed, recalling the event that left him marked.

 

“The entire country knows, of course, and feign shock,” he remarked. Burr listened intently while the other man continued, “As if they didn't know our history.”

 

“As if they didn't know your prickly honor.”

 

Hamilton gave him a look, “I take full accountability for my actions, as you should yours.”

 

“Indeed I do, General,” Aaron answered unctuously. “Which is why I have come here to speak with you. You said in your letter...ah, where did I put it--” Burr patted his vest here and here, searching for the paper. Upon finding it, he read it out loud with an brisk conciseness:

 

“ _ 'I wish for Colonel Burr to be an ornament to his country, and for myself to be in future useful' _ , this is paraphrased, of course, you know the papers, ' _ and so I accepted his challenge with this purpose in mind...' _ et cetera, et cetera.” Burr lowered the paper and walked over to the bed. “Did you mean all of that, General?”

 

Hamilton straightened up and placed his tea on the nightstand next to him. “Of course I did.”

 

The colonel smiled broadly and made room for himself on the bed. Alexander, alarmed, moved his papers out of the way and inched towards the other edge of the mattress.

 

“I am most pleased to hear that, then. I am of the opinion you and I could make a wonderful partnership given present circumstances.”

 

“This old song,” the general replied lazily.

 

“No, now listen to me,” Burr held up a hand, “You must face the unattractive truth that you are no longer an influence with the Federalists, and I no longer an influence with--”

 

“--You are simply  _ not trusted _ , Colonel Burr. It has nothing to do with influence.” Hamilton massaged his hip.

 

Aaron bared his teeth and balled a fist against the duvet, crumpling several papers. “How I do love your semantics lessons.”

 

“Pray continue, please.”

 

“I was merely saying that perhaps you and I must make our fortunes elsewhere. Be in future useful  _ elsewhere _ , be a blessing  _ elsewhere _ ,” Burr lowered his voice, “you understand that Adams and the New Englanders want nothing to do with you and the Junto consider me an unreliable liability who has  _ 'forgone the people's trust'--” _

 

Hamilton cut in with a short, sharp laugh and picked a ball of link from his sleeve. “'The  _ Junto'. _ I like that.”

 

“Yes, well,” the colonel continued, “those now in power all agree on one thing, even though they do not speak it out loud.”

 

“Oh? And what is that?”

 

“That you are reckless and I am an opportunist.”

 

Hamilton exhaled loudly and placed both hands on the bed spread, studying his ink stained fingers. “Colonel Burr, please make your point.”

 

“Come with me to the Western territories.”

 

Hamilton was quiet for a moment, and then, “For what purpose?”

 

“Revolution.”

 

“You're going to have to be more specific than that.”

“Just as we fought for independence from the British crown, so the Mexicans seek to fight for freedom from the Spaniards,” Burr dropped his voice, “You spoke with Wilkinson. You know the time is ripe. If we can redeem ourselves--”

 

The general held up a hand and closed his eyes briefly before thinking aloud, “You honestly think the Jefferson administration would allow reckless opportunism free reign in the Western states? You do realize he already considers this entire continent his—America's--regardless of the boundaries of the recent land purchase.”

 

“That is why I have a back up plan.”

 

Hamilton raised his eyebrows.

 

“We purchase a tract of land in one of the Western states—legitimately, of course,” the colonel smiled, “and wait there for revolution.”

 

The room grew quiet as Hamilton sat beneath his sheets, pondering the idea. He glanced out the window and into the branches of a dying tree, reminding him of his own mortality and that deathly winter would come whether he was prepared or not. He turned his head back to face his guest and was greeted with eager eyes.

 

“What have you got to lose, General?”

 

Alexander prickled and responded shortly, “My wife and children, Colonel. How shall I care for them?”

 

“How shall you care for them  _ indeed, _ with the pittance you earn at your practice. Compare that to the salary of a hero general who has picked himself up from oblivion and proven himself.”

 

“Glory means nothing to me,” the general replied. At this, Burr let out a deep laugh.

 

“You and I both know that is manifestly wrong.” He grew serious. “I have come to seek the best. You know my thoughts on that.”

 

Hamilton hesitated and chewed his lip in thought while Burr pressed further, “This is one matter on which you and I can both agree.”

 

After another minute of silence, and Burr played his last card.

 

“I come to you not as a master to an apprentice nor as a lackey to a patron. I come to you as an equal, as a partner in this venture, and will treat you as such.”

 

A crow screamed its eerie laugh in the distance, signaling the approaching nightfall.

“You must swear to me, on your honor as a gentleman,” Hamilton began, “that this will be lawful, organized, well-provisioned, and legitimate—and I will not deal with crooks or thieves or anyone else nefarious you might think to include.”

 

“My friends are not crooks no more than yours are--”

 

“--Colonel Burr,” the general cut in, warningly. Aaron closed his mouth and nodded. He reached for the other man's hand, warm from the cup of tea, and held it for a brief moment of solidarity.

 

__________

 

After re-tying his handkerchief, Burr lifted the dirty flat-brimmed hat off his head and ran a hand through his hair. Hamilton marched his horse back to where the other man sat.

 

_ “Your _ funds? No,” his horse shook its head, “this is not  _ your  _ money. This is not my money, either. This is that...that.... _ dilettante _ Blennerhassett's money that you weaseled out of him. Promising him land grants that you don't even own yet--”

 

“--Would you stop it already?” Burr’s temper wore thin. “You've done nothing but complain this whole time.”

 

“You said we would be partners in this. Equals. All I've been able to do is follow you as you wander about blindly like a babe in the woods,” the general waved a hand, gesturing to the thick trees brimming and teeming with life and sounds in the muggy swamp heat, “we are better off just doing what I wanted to from the get-go and heading towards South America.”

 

_ “For the last blasted time, we are not going to South America.” _

 

The general growled in frustration and clumsily dismounted his horse, motioning angrily for the colonel to do the same.

 

“Get down. Get down from there this instant.”

 

“I will do no such thing. Get back on your horse. You look like a raving lunatic.” Burr walked on, seething, while his partner struggled to keep up.

 

Finally grabbing a reign, Hamilton got his attention. “I said get down!”

 

The horse whinnied, irritated at the sudden halt, and Aaron swung his body off the steed. Alexander stomped up behind him, waving the map he'd folded up earlier.

 

“If you knew that I had taken your map with the routes marked for Mexico and switched it with my South American one, and frankly I don't know how anyone couldn't notice, so don't think that's a compliment,” the general's words came out heated, “then why didn't you say anything several hundred miles back  _ while we were still in habitable territory?” _

 

“Because I thought I knew my way!”

 

“And you think I am going to let you carry on without direction?” As Burr began to walk away, Hamilton grabbed his shoulder, “look at me.”

 

Burr acquiesced, and watched as the general held up the Mexican map and tore it in half. “Now we are map-less, and since you don't know how to get from here to Texas territory, we will be doing things my way.”

 

“Brilliant. You've destroyed our only map. You are a genius, General Hamilton. Bravo.”

 

“If you hadn't thrown my last one away, we would not be at this juncture, would we?”

 

Burr turned and gritted his teeth, bringing his hands up in a mock gesture, “I could choke you, do you know that? I could choke you right here for the mess you've put us in.”

 

Hamilton flung his weight back onto his horse, “Follow my lead, Colonel. I will find us a place to make camp for the evening.”

 

__________

 

Hamilton waited until he heard the steady, slow sound of breath coming from the sleeping body across from him. The fire had since died, leaving the mosquitoes free reign on his exposed flesh, and he quickly slapped a few away before standing up. Avoiding twigs and branches that might snap beneath his feet, he tiptoed over to his traveling companion and stared down at him, letting his thoughts brew.

 

He knew from the outset that Burr would find a way to ruin the trip—knew he was unreliable and prone to wild schemes that would prove disastrous should Hamilton attach his name to them—and so he formulated a plan. He was used to Burr’s antics and could anticipate his every move--at this, Hamilton tapped an empty wine bottle out of the way--which was why he planned on the stubborn colonel insisting they head one way when the general knew fortune lay in the other. 

 

The alcohol was an easy enough venture: Alexander smiled at the endearing naivete of his partner and the dark, red wine stained grin flickering across from him in the light of the fire as Burr finished the last drops on his own. He thanked him drunkenly and fell into a heavy sleep while Hamilton sat patiently, biding his time.

 

Alexander grabbed his companion's wrists, swearing at the heaviness of the dead weight, and dragged him to his dosing horse. In a swift movement, and not without some struggle, the general succeeded in draping the small body across the back of the steed, jolting only a little when Aaron murmured and stirred briefly.

 

“I know you, Colonel Burr, you old devil. I know you.” Hamilton lead the horse quietly down through the woods as the trees thinned out and the ground grew wetter, he muttered, “I know you think you're leading this little journey but you've got no idea what you're doing do you?”

 

He walked on, the wet leaves muffling his step, as the thick summer night clung to his white undershirt. Finally, he reached his destination: before him, rocking silently in the low tide of a shallow river, a boat bobbed up and down and Hamilton tugged at the reign, edging the horse on.

 

“Come now, just a bit further,” he whispered, a smile spreading across his face, “just a bit further and we can dump this precious cargo right where it belongs. Did you really think I'd let you lead me on a wild Mexican goose chase, Colonel Burr? When I know for certain fortune lies in the southern continents?”

 

The man and the horse reached the boat and with great care, and Hamilton nudged Burr off the back of the beast and onto the soft earth. Briefly, the drunken man stirred, moaned, and fell silent again.

 

“And I thought he looked so small,” the general huffed, dragging the body the rest of the way, and using his foot to bring the boat closer. In another moment he pushed Burr into the boat and, careful to avoid the oars, adjusted him in what he assumed was a comfortable position. Taking one last look at his handy work, Hamilton mounted his horse and rode back to the campsite, gathered the rest of the belongings, and tossed them in one of the larger sacks.

 

The boat ride would only be several days: provisions would be meager, but the two soldiers would survive. He took one last look at the drowsy horses slowly chewing on the small patches of grass at their feet and walked off.

 

Hamilton smiled to himself, proud of his handiwork, and replayed his plans in his mind.

 

__________

 

Once the colonel had left his bedroom on that chilly November evening, Hamilton began to think. Clearly the ex-vice president was not to be trusted— _ well _ , corrected Alexander to himself,  _ he could be trusted to be  _ dishonest _ — _ and so the general devised a way to save himself should the expedition go awry. And, as long as Burr was involved, Hamilton expected nothing less than utter mayhem.

 

He began by pulling himself out of bed, wincing at the Honor Wound (he had taken to calling it, rather proudly), and lightly walking across the cold bedroom floor towards his book shelf. Volumes upon volumes of correspondence he had saved, just in case, and here was the moment he'd been planning for. Finding one letter in particular, Hamilton heaved a relieved sigh and hobbled back to bed. It was from the eccentric Wilkinson, dated almost eight years previous, describing the tyranny of the Spanish—the vile things they had subjected their citizens to—and the patriotic fervor with which the Spanish subjects burned. The General clutched the letter to his chest and thought for a moment, remembering the days when he was young and on fire with patriotism like the Spanish subjects. It would be a disservice to them—and a disservice to God—if he ignored the pleas of his fellow humans when he had it well within his power to free them.

 

He folded the letter and put it in his vest pocket and in his mind's eye observed the details.

 

South America, the letter stressed, was where the tyranny was worse and was where the Americans were most wanted. Perhaps not now, perhaps not even in a year, but in the coming century there would be a revolution and those who were at its forefront would be remembered forever. Wilkinson's eagerness practically jumped off the page; Alexander took a finger and reread some of the more colorful lines. It was all here. The United States would be dual continental, the general realized, and it's Spanish inhabitants the recipients of freedom.

 

Jefferson purchased Louisiana and his vice president sat silently beside him with hungry black eyes.

 

Colonel Burr would have to be dealt with, but he was influenced easily enough. Hamilton despised blackmail, he truly did, remembering the wicked couple who'd ruined his marriage, but he had a more intimate understanding of the ex-vice president's perverse nature than any of their mutual friends and was quick to say so. He hadn't laid all his cards on the table— _ yet _ \--but if Burr  stepped out of line--

 

The general blushed easily and leaned over to blow out his candle for the night.

 

__________

 

Hamilton rowed methodically down the river in the medium sized boat, taking moments here and there to listen to the first birds begin their song at sunrise and the cicadas begin their loud summertime buzz. There was no such life in northern climates, he recalled, and grew oddly nostalgic for the wet hot tropical heat of his youth. At his feet, his semi-conscious passenger stirred and Alexander waited with glee for him to wake. Urging the process along, he tapped Burr with his boot.

 

“Wake up, dear Colonel,” Hamilton grinned, “I have a  _ tremendous _ surprise for you.”

Sweat beading and running down his back already, the general rowed on, watching with delight his passenger rub the sleep from his eyes and grip the deck of the boat to get his bearings.

 

“Where is this...why is this...” Burr mumbled, still dazed from the alcohol of the previous evening.

 

_ “ _ Good Morning!”

 

In a flash, Burr unsheathed a dagger from his own boot and waved it around wildly. Upon standing up, he lost his balance and fell head-long on to Hamilton’s lap, leaving a small gash on his thigh.

 

“You idiot!” Alexander swore and reached for a jacket near by, fastening it into a tourniquet and allowing the oars to drift to the surface of the water. The boat stopped and Aaron stumbled and fell to his knees, gripping the side and retching into the water below him.

 

“Colonel!” Hamilton bit his lip and applied pressure to the cut while Burr closed his eyes, wiped his mouth and regained his composure. Turning around swiftly he locked eyes with his bleeding companion.

 

“Where am I? Where are we? What have you done?” He demanded hoarsely.

 

“Get over here and help me with this bandage! You've cut me!”

 

“I will do no such thing until you tell me where you're taking me! Where is the camp? Where are our horses!” Burr held the dagger aloft.

 

“There is no time for that!  _ Get over here and tie this bandage on me!” _

 

Burr exhaled loudly in frustration and dropped to his knees again, wrapping the jacket tightly around the injured leg of his companion. After he was finished, he reached out and slapped it.

 

“Where are we!”

 

“ _ Christ! _ ”

 

_ “Tell me where you are taking me or so help me God, General--” _

 

“I told you I had arranged for us to head to South America by way of the Gulf!” Hamilton gripped his thigh and stared defiantly at the other man. “You would not listen to me, so I took matters into my own hands. There will be someone picking up our horses where we left them and taking care of them until we get back. I have brought along all the supplies we will need to last us until Cuba--”

 

_ “--Cuba?” _

 

“You heard me.” The general grabbed the oars again, looked up into the sails, and made a quick calculation, “we will be there more quickly than I expected, with this blessed wind.”

 

Burr seethed, “You _ tricked _ me,” he sputtered, “You  _ tricked  _ me into drinking that bottle of wine so you could sneak me onto a sailboat—you stubborn little--”

 

“--If you hadn't been so insistent on Mexico none of this would have happened!”

 

_ “I could throttle you right now, do you hear me?”  _ Burr stood up and began to pace the boat like a trapped cat. From his pants pocket he whipped out a small, leather bound book.“I had a very specific plan, do you understand? I had people I was supposed to meet, alliances to form. We were on a schedule!”

 

Hamilton dropped the rows and stood up quickly. Reaching out, he knocked the little book from his companion's hands.“ _ Your  _ schedule. Your blasted schedule. Do you know what an embarrassment your Mexican plans would have been—I would have been humiliated—It would reflect so poorly on me--”

 

“--I had everything under control!”

 

“Sit down and stop shouting, Colonel Burr, you are making an ass of yourself!”

 

Burr was incredulous,  _ “We are literally the only ones out here!” _

 

A seagull screeched stupidly in the distance and its friend answered. The two men half expected the colonel's words to ricochet off of some structure in the distance, but there was nothing but silent ocean. Aaron hyperventilated, and then raised a finger, “We are  _ literally  _ the only ones out here. This has nothing to do with your stupid, wounded pride. This is personal and you know it.”

 

Alexander clenched his jaw, and spoke through gritted teeth, “This is most certainly about pride. And not just mine, but yours too. I did us a favor. We are doing God's work here--”

 

“--Don't even talk to me about Jesus. I've heard enough about Jesus to last a bloody lifetime.” Burr kicked a bag at his feet, sending it flying across the small deck. He flung himself down onto a seat and covered his face. “I can't believe I let you do this.”

 

“There is no turning back now. But I am right. You will see.” Hamilton turned his back and took a deep breath to steady himself. 

 

Burr grabbed the nearest object to him—a lonely apple that had rolled out of a bag in the scuffle—and flung it at Hamilton’s head. A split second later, clutching his skull, the general picked it up and flung it back, knocking Burr off balance right in the center of his back.

 

“If you want to be childish, we can be childish,” Hamilton responded. “Or you can just trust me that I know what I'm doing.”

 

“I am sick, and going back to sleep. Wake me when you’ve finished with your idiot plan.” Burr positioned himself on the deck and balled an overcoat up underneath his head.

 

__________

 

Burr rarely dreamed, but when he did, they visions were disturbing. This time it was not so much a dream as it was a fantasy, urged on by the gently rocking of the boat and the rhythmic splashing of the oars. The wind whipped through the canvas sail carelessly and Aaron opened his eyes just a peek to admire the blue sky. He adored the ocean—lived for adventure on the seas—but not at the command and direction of the bossy upstart.

 

He could still make it to Mexico, Burr pondered silently, back turned in defiance towards his companion. He could stay in Cuba and wait for other friends to come get him and head west, and in the end show Hamilton who would triumph. It was those who were willing to dare, and allow positivity into their lives, who would be the ones to survive and flourish. Burr knew it wasn't Hamilton's easy-going resignation that dragged him into affairs of honor eleven times previous to their most recent—and only-- encounter.

 

The colonel relaxed into the rhythm of the ocean and thought. He knew he would have to be the one to compromise (hadn't it  _ always  _ been that way?) but he never dreamed it would be like this. A compromise at a metaphorical gunpoint—waking up in a strange boat off the coast of west Florida. At the thought of a gun Burr chastised himself.

 

_ We all are made to compromise, here and there. Those who can't don't survive. Those who won't are liars. _

 

But Burr never made much of hypocrites unless then stood in his path. Not a single person on the face of the earth was exempt from the charge of hypocrisy. He much preferred the people who felt stifled by guilt rather than those who carried on as if nothing was wrong. He belonged in the second category, Hamilton in the first. 

 

“I know you're awake, Colonel,” Hamilton called, the wind cutting his words short. Burr could not help but grin.

 

“You caught me,” he replied, still smarting from being duped. In a moment he felt Alexander walk up behind him.

“I have been thinking about what you said regarding God,” the general began, situating himself on the deck next to his drowsy partner, “and I do believe that a great majority of your troubles stem from your lack of Christian belief.”

 

“Oh, General Hamilton, don't--”

 

“--You know those without conviction are doomed,” Alexander pulled a piece of hair form his face, “doomed to lead selfish lives and wind up in the pit.”

 

Burr shuffled slowed into an upright position, wincing at his hangover, “General Hamilton, please stop.”

 

“I was wrong for accepting your challenge to a duel,” Hamilton talked on, “but I felt that I had no choice. I am lucky God spared me. I half expected him to smite me as punishment. I believe he has given me a second chance to redeem myself.”

 

Burr maneuvered himself back towards the side of the boat, and leaned on it, knees pulled up to his chin.

 

“I must apologize for tricking you,” said the general, staring at nothing in particular.

 

“We shall see how much of an apology this is when you realize what a foolish venture South America is,” Aaron snapped back, harsher than he'd intended.

 

Alexander flushed pink, “It is this type of attitude that will get you in trouble. Arrogance.”

 

“Don't preach at me, General.”

 

Hamilton swallowed and prepared his speech, “I believe I was spared...and I have been doing quite a bit of thinking about this, so do humor me...I believe I was spared so that God could use me as an instrument of good and righteousness in His plan. I faced death and he spared me.”

 

“He spared  _ me _ , too, you know,” Burr muttered. Hamilton seemed not to notice.

 

“And because of this,” the igeneral pressed on, “I feel it is my duty to help you find your way in His plan, and help you find peace.”

 

Burr let out a short laugh, “Are you...are you  _ evangelising  _ at me?”

 

“Listen to me, Colonel Burr--”

 

“--I don't believe this. This is too much.”

“You don't have a lot of time on this earth and standing in front of that pistol made me realize this, and God tells us to love our enemies,” Hamilton’s voice grew stronger as he built up his confidence, “and it would be evil of me to ignore a fellow creature who is in so dire need of spiritual guidance--”

 

“ _ \--'Dire need of spiritual guidance'? _ What sort of spiritual guidance was it when you had your tongue down your sister-in-law's throat?” Burr could not contain his bemusement.

 

“People can change!” Hamilton slammed a fist against the wood of the boat, “People can change, do not mock me for trying to doing so!”

 

The waves rocked the two men gently as the small vessel sailed on, the canvas above their heads whipping to and fro in the breeze. Several seabirds glided lazily overhead, their wings casting shadows on the deck. Burr tilted his head back and wiped his eyes.

 

“Alright, alright. I will hear you out. Preach for me.”

 

Hamilton began, “Well, to begin with, what we did was a sin. Dueling is a sin.”

 

Burr bit his tongue and nodded curtly.

 

“I myself am slightly more guilty than you, given that I have participated in several over my years, when I was young and uninhibited, but I have since learned my lesson.”

 

“A true blessing.”

 

“Most certainly. And I will take your sarcastic tone as the fear you are trying to hide. The fear you have for your soul. You must pray with me, Colonel Burr.”

 

Burr lifted his hand from his face, “What.”

 

Hamilton inched closer, a look of profound seriousness etched into his features. Awkwardly, he reached for the other man’s hands and held them, “Colonel, will you pray with me?”

 

“General I really don't think--”

 

“--Heavenly Father, in all your mercy and forgiveness, please come to this man in his time of need and wash of him his unholy sins,” Hamilton paused and opened a single eye, “Colonel, are you taking this seriously?”

 

Burr rolled his eyes and finally closed them, bowing his head.

“Wash this man of his many,  _ many _ unholy sins in your life-giving waters and I pray that you, in all your unending wisdom, give me the strength to guide him spiritually ever closer to your loving embrace, and him the strength to accept the love placed deep inside of him--”

 

At this, Burr stifled irreverent laughter and Hamilton hit his shoulder.

 

“--We ask this in Jesus' name, Amen.”

 

“Am I allowed to open my eyes now?”

 

“Yes, Colonel, you may open your eyes.” Hamilton looked at him expectantly. “How do you feel?”

 

“I feel the same as when we first began this service. Am I supposed to feel different? Perhaps I should make the sign of the cross.”

 

Burr blessed himself clumsily before Hamilton stopped him.

 

“Only papists do that. You make a mockery of this.”

 

“I simply want to cover all my bases.”

 

Hamilton sprang to his feet. “You must be baptized!” He stepped over the luggage and searched wildly around.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Take off your clothes.”

 

“General Hamilton!”

 

“No, no, no, listen to me. You must be cleaned of your sin. And to do that, you must be baptized. And here we are, surrounded by water!” The general dug through their bags, searching for a white linen shirt. “You must wear white,” he continued, “to represent purity.”

 

Burr watched him, a half smiled playing on his mouth. “I'm not letting you dunk me in the ocean, you fool,” he muttered.

 

“No of course not,” Hamilton responded, wielding a bucket, “We will improvise.”

 

“Oh no, oh no, I'm not letting you dump water over my head, either.”

 

“Hold still, Colonel.”

 

“General Hamilton for the last time--”

 

Alexander was too quick; He dunked the bucket into the water and brought it up swiftly, flinging its contents onto the man before him. Burr stood up in cold shock, bringing a hand up to his eyes to wipe the stinging salt away.

 

“Thank you, reverend,” he mumbled sarcastically. “My hangover is gone.”

 

“You will truly thank me later, when you have felt the awesome power of Christ and his forgiveness.”                                    

 


End file.
